


Rats

by Kantayra



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-04
Updated: 2007-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson, meet Steve McQueen. Steve McQueen, meet Wilson. Now fight for House's love! Fight, dammit!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rats

**Author's Note:**

> I figure it's obligatory for everyone to write at least one gratuitous Steve fic. This is mine. Some snark, some angst, and whatnot.

If Wilson had had to bet money on it, he would have put a significant chunk on the fact that House and a pet would _not_ work out. He didn’t lose money betting on House that often these days, but he would’ve lost this time. Good thing no one had been willing to take those odds.

The thing was that Wilson had prior evidence that should have supported his claim. It all hearkened back to the summer of ’97, when Wilson’s sister-in-law had tricked him into cat-sitting the same weekend that the gas pipe had sprung a leak. The end result had been Wilson, then-wife, and cat all intruding on House and Stacy for two days. After only six hours and one attack on the piano later, House had gotten out the broom. Given that House ended up with more scratches than patches of the floor had been swept by cat-butt, the unholy feline shrieks were egregiously disproportionate to the crime. One of the neighbors, whom House had pissed off repeatedly, had still called the police, though. The fact that Wilson had laughed at the whole situation was probably partially responsible for how he’d ended up divorced two months later. Well, that and Tricia from physical therapy.

The point of all this was that, when Wilson finally came to the realization that wife number three had gone south the same way that one and two had, he hadn’t expected to find himself sharing House’s living room with a rat. He’d heard the whole story of Steve, of course. And it had fit with House’s personality to cure the little vermin before finally putting it out of its misery. But Steve really should have been handed over to the guys in the white lab coats weeks ago now. It just wasn’t like House to be…sentimental like this.

“Oh, yeah,” House retorted as soon as he’d caught Wilson staring at Steve’s cage in surprise, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “I suspect I might have a rat.”

Wilson sighed and collapsed on the couch. “I’ll watch my feet.”

In his cage, Steve ran merrily on his wheel, entirely oblivious to the bizarre and improbable series of circumstances that had led to his current means of existence.

***

The thing that _really_ got to Wilson, though, wasn’t just that House permitted Steve’s continued existence. The weird part was that House seemed to _like_ the damn rat. This event was almost unparalleled throughout human history, and Wilson wasn’t able to do much more than gape in disbelief the first time House had taken the rat out of its cage and set it to rest on his chest, petting it absently while he watched TV.

Wilson had never exactly been fond of rats before. In fact, he’d been kind of creeped out by the idea of bunking with a rat in the first place, even though he’d been consciously aware of the fact that House must have gotten Steve a clean bill of health. However, all of Wilson’s biases aside, even he had to admit that the sight of House cuddling his pet rat while it pressed its ear over his heart and shut its eyes in a supremely contented way was pretty much the cutest thing ever.

“You say one word, and I’m putting Steve’s droppings into your shampoo,” House warned, one eye on Wilson and the other on the rather energetic blonde jumping up and down on the TV.

There was only one thing Wilson could do: “Awwww! You’re so adorable!”

He only barely ducked the empty beer can in time.

“Does House _wuv_ his ickle Stevie?”

The remote followed and took quite a good chip out of the mantelpiece. House made him get up and change the channel manually for the rest of the evening. And, for the next week, he checked his shampoo – and pretty much every other object in his possession – obsessively.

It had _so_ been worth it.

***

It was around that time that Wilson had first become genuinely interested in Steve, rather than just trying to block out the fact that there was a rat in the room. After all, anything that garnered any of House’s limited affection _had_ to be fascinating.

Steve spent the vast majority of his time running on his wheel or snuffling about in the wood shavings that lined his cage. He ate and drank and kind of stank. Upon closer inspection, Wilson had to admit that he _was_ kind of cute, even without the ridiculously heartwarming tableau of ‘House and Rat.’ The only really remarkable thing about him was that, for a rat that had originally been wild, he sure seemed to like human contact.

After that first time Wilson caught House petting Steve, House had dropped any pretense that he wasn’t hopelessly fond of the little guy. It seemed that rat-petting was a nightly event in the House household. Steve was remarkably well-behaved throughout the whole ordeal. He didn’t try to run away, but just settled in happily on House’s chest and watched the TV as well. Occasionally, he would nuzzle House’s fingers. That little trick generally earned him a piece of whatever junk food House was consuming at the moment. Once, when Wilson came home late, he caught House and Steve watching ‘The Magnificent Seven,’ and House was informing Steve of his namesake’s unquestionable awesomeness.

House had that half smile on his face that he sometimes got when he thought no one was watching, and Steve seemed to be making a little nest in House’s Who t-shirt. There was something deeply touching about the whole scene. It was the most Wilson had seen House connect with another living being, well…maybe ever.

House looked over his shoulder and snorted at Wilson. “God, you are _such_ a girl…”

Wilson made sure to use up all the hot water the next morning, just for good measure.

***

Wilson’s first _real_ encounter with Steve happened about two weeks into his cohabitation with House. House had just been plucking Steve out of his cage for the evening when the microwave dinged, indicating that House’s Pizza Pockets were ready.

“Here, hold this.” House unceremoniously shoved Steve into Wilson’s hands before hobbling off to clog his arteries.

There was one moment of awkward silence.

Wilson stared at the rat clasped loosely between his palms.

The rat stared back and twitched his whiskers inquisitively.

Wilson coughed once.

The rat yawned.

And then, just when Wilson was seriously considering putting the rat back in his cage, Steve took the initiative, stretched out his neck, and nuzzled the tip of Wilson’s nose.

From that moment on, Wilson was in love. Truly. Madly. Deeply.

“Rat hog,” House grumbled, flipping through the channels and clutching his Pizza Pocket greedily in his free hand.

Wilson stroked the silky fur on Steve’s back and nestled him in closer to his chest. “You’re just jealous because he likes me better. Don’t you, Steve?”

House made a horrified face and let his head fall back against the cushions in disgust. “God, if you save me now, I will totally stop pinching nun’s asses on the bus…”

Wilson took the opportunity to procure a corner of House’s Pizza Pocket for Steve.

Steve was most appreciative.

***

House took to Wilson and Steve’s newfound friendship the same way he took to everything: badly.

House was very possessive of his rat and took every opportunity to hoard Steve. Wilson had no choice but to lie in wait, until one night Steve scampered over House’s chest to the side closest to Wilson. Taking this as a momentary victory in their own personal Rat War, Wilson petted Steve’s back in reward.

House gave Wilson a suspicious look. “If you wanted to stroke my rat so badly, all you ever had to do was ask.”

Any lassitude Wilson had felt from leaning against House’s side and petting Steve vanished at that. With a precision strike, he successfully liberated Steve from House’s evil clutches. “Oh, stroke your own rat,” he retorted.

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Only the cranky, crippled, balding ones.”

“So, basically, all your cancer kids?”

“My cancer kids are _not_ cranky!”

“Oh, yeah? When was the last time you tried to convince them to stand outside the Clinic and convert all incoming patients into Hare Krishnas? _Cranky_.”

“I hate you so much,” Wilson concluded, although he meant quite the opposite.

House grunted, hesitated for a moment, and then reached over to pat the rat on Wilson’s chest. Neither of them said anything about it.

If Steve had been a cat, he would have been purring at all the attention. As it was, he tried to burrow his way straight through Wilson’s nipple before Wilson finally had to move him. After all, that was just _uncomfortable_.

***

“Do you ever worry that Steve is lonely while we’re at work?” Wilson asked one evening when House was playing idly at the piano and even Steve had stopped running on his wheel in order to better listen. He looked the rat right in the eye, but no immediate answer was forthcoming.

“Oh, yeah. He used to cry himself to sleep every single day, but then one morning he put on his brave face and crawled onto his wheel, head held up high. It’s an inspirational story for the ages.” House frowned when he hit the C above High C and it, apparently, didn’t meet with his approval. “Does that sound out of tune to you?”

“It sounds fine.” Wilson continued to study Steve in his cage, looking for signs of rat ennui. “I’ve been reading up on rat care. They’re supposed to be social animals.”

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me,” House rolled his eyes Wilson’s way. “That’s it. No more caring for you. It’s officially rotted your brain. And your ears.” He hit the C again and made a rather ridiculous pained-looking face, like that would help him hear better or something.

“I’m just saying,” Wilson stuck the tip of his finger between the wires of Steve’s cage. Steve nuzzled it in response. “Maybe Steve would like a girlfriend.”

“Or a boyfriend,” House retorted. “Why do you have to be so closed-minded all the time? Didn’t you attend that diversity sensitivity thing last week?”

Wilson gave House a skeptical look. “Yes… In fact, I’m the one who put your name on the attendance roster.”

“This just proves my point that diversity sensitivity is a waste of time.”

“Of course.” Wilson rolled his eyes. “How could I ever have doubted?”

“That’s just another part of your closed-mindedness.”

“I’m closed-minded just because I don’t always think you’re right?”

“No, you’re _wrong_ because you don’t always think I’m right. You’re closed-minded because you just can’t accept that Steve McQueen is his own rat. He doesn’t need any of that namby-pamby companionship stuff.”

“But he _does_ need a boyfriend?” Wilson raised both eyebrows for emphasis.

“Are you calling Steve McQueen gay?” House laughed.

“You started it. Personally, I’d rather be safe than sorry.” Wilson took a swig of his own beer. “If anyone can kick your ass from beyond the grave, it’s Steve McQueen.”

“You’re talking about the actor, not the rat.” House finally turned away from the piano in disgust, twanging the C once again, just for good measure.

Wilson wasn’t sure that they were talking about either.

***

There were plenty of excellent reasons why Wilson should move out. He had cited many of them: House played annoying pranks on him every chance he could, neither of them had any hope of privacy or personal space, his and House’s routines were fundamentally incompatible, the theft of his property had increased exponentially, House’s couch was uncomfortable. However, none of those were _really_ why Wilson finally left.

“Admit it.” House refused to look up from where he sat on the floor, punching frantically away at the buttons on his game controller. All around, the zombies were closing in. Wilson gave him a minute, tops, before he lost. “This is because I wouldn’t let you hold my rat, isn’t it?”

The times when House was the scariest were always the ones where he stumbled upon some truth without even being aware of it. “Is that a euphemism?” If there was anything he’d learned from House, it was how to deflect a personal question with a joke.

“Why, Jimmy,” House mock sniffled and a horde of zombies fell upon him and started eating him alive, “I didn’t know you cared.” The ‘game over’ message flashed on the screen, and House tossed the controller aside.

“Oh, yes,” Wilson agreed as unenthusiastically as possible. “Take me, big boy. I’m yours.”

House stiffened for a moment, then snorted and picked up the controller again, returning to the beginning of the level. “Be sure to check the bathroom. I don’t need my own personal beauty salon, thanks.”

Because, of course, House could never take anything from the realm of their teasing and admit that it was real. Wilson set down his suitcase by the door and glanced around House’s condo with a sigh. He kind of hated good-byes, but since House had brought the rat up…

“Bye, Steve.” Wilson opened the door to the cage to give the rat a farewell pat. “I’m claiming visitation rights, you know.”

“And I’m claiming alimony.”

“You don’t ‘borrow’ enough money from me already?”

“If you still have enough money for your own place? Clearly not.” The zombie rush was closing in once more.

“So that’s your evil scheme…” Wilson frowned at the game on screen. “You suck at that.”

“What are you talking about?” House spared him an indignant look. “My schemes are the evilest.”

That wasn’t what Wilson meant. In fact, Wilson wasn’t quite sure what he meant anymore. Of all the things that annoyed him about House, that was always the worst. There were days when it was fun to play this game with House, every conversation layered with endless levels of meaning and innuendo. It made him feel alive in a way that nothing else could.

It also meant that, when they had something serious to discuss, it was almost impossible to tell what House meant. Either House was interested in him, or he just liked his rat and playing with Wilson’s head. Wilson didn’t think he was insane for thinking that the former was a possibility, but he also wasn’t insane enough to eliminate the latter. As usual, he learned everything and nothing about House, all at the same time.

He set Steve back down in his cage with a final pat, moved to the door, and paused for a moment to see if House would react at all. Of course, House was House so he couldn’t possibly just say what was on his mind.

“I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

House was being eviscerated by zombies yet again. Steve gnawed happily on a wooden block, oblivious to the fact that anything was different. No consequences there. It meant that it was easier to leave and easier to love.

“Bye.”

“Bye,” House grunted around a mouthful of chips, watching the blood and gore on the TV screen intently.

Wilson closed the door behind him, rolled his suitcase out to his car, and collapsed in the driver’s seat, head and folded arms resting on the steering wheel. “Rats,” he sighed to no one in particular.


End file.
